


i'm gone

by bi_marvel



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Massage, Minor Angst, Mutual Pining, Nurse Bucky Barnes, POV Bucky Barnes, POV Sam Wilson, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Sharing a Bed, injured sam wilson, this is super soft ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-19 08:23:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22008001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bi_marvel/pseuds/bi_marvel
Summary: After infiltrating a Hydra base, Sam and Bucky are sent to a safe house, and there's only one bed. Oh, golly, I wonder what will happen!
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson
Comments: 14
Kudos: 198





	i'm gone

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” 

Sam couldn’t believe the utter bullshit he had to put up with for Steve’s sake.  _ Hey, Sam, can you house me and Natasha while Hydra are on our tails?  _ Why yes, of course! Come on in! _ Hey, Sam, can you help me fight my brain-washed assassin best friend? O _ h, you mean the 100-year-old enhanced assassin that could break my back with a hand? I'm in! _ Hey, Sam, can you help me find said best friend and then go against 100 countries to keep him safe?  _ The one who almost killed me several times? Why not. _ Hey, Sam, can you become a war criminal with me? _ Anything for you, Steve!

Well, he could have technically said no to all of them, but refusing Steve Rogers? Nah. He didn’t want that on his conscience. 

But now, post-mission, exhausted and beaten to shit, freezing cold as snow fell like rainfall outside, Sam stood at the doorway of the cabin, bewildered. And secretly planning Steve Rogers’ murder. 

“You wanna move?” Barnes grumbled, nudging Sam’s shoulder – not gently, either. “Dick,” he added when Sam stepped inside the cabin, shutting the door behind them. 

The cabin wasn’t even a cabin; it was essentially a large room with a stove and cupboard on one side, and a bed on the other. 

Yes, a bed. 

As in; bed, singular. 

One bed. 

Two grown men. 

No couch. 

You could imagine his dilemma. 

Barnes, apparently, didn’t notice Sam’s internal conflict as he bounded towards the cupboard, slamming it open. “Got a med kit here,” he mumbled, quiet, but loud enough for Sam to hear. “No shower, though.” 

“Put a bucket outside. Wait for the snow to melt,” Sam suggested, stretching his arms behind his back, wincing. Some asshole Hydra agent cut his back with a blade, slicing straight through his Kevlar uniform. When Steve was Captain America, he always wondered how he constantly managed to get injured. 

Now he knew. And it was a nightmare.

“And get my hair more wet than it already is?” Barnes scoffed. “Yeah, no thanks.” 

“Pussy,” Sam said. 

“Asshole,” Barnes replied. 

Sam turned his back on the man with an eye roll to pull at the straps that held the shield on his back. He dropped the weapon on the ground with a metallic  _ thunk _ . 

A quiet  _ oh _ sounded from Barnes, and Sam looked over his shoulder to – as he expected – see Barnes staring at the bed. “That, um…” 

“Might be a problem?” Sam asked, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah. No shit.” 

“Not for me, dumbass,” Barnes said. “I share with Stevie all the time. Don’t wanna offend your delicate sensibilities.” 

“Delicate sens— what the fuck are you on about?” 

“Sharing a bed?” Barnes hinted, teeth digging into his lower lip to conceal his grin. The way his eyelashes fluttered teasingly- was not attractive. It was  _ not  _ attractive. “With another man that looks as good as this?” He gestured to himself. “Might embarrass yourself, is all I’m saying.” 

“Oh, fuck you,” Sam mumbled as aggressively as he could, turning his back on the man again to heave off his uniform. Despite his underclothes being a bitch when it came to overheating, it worked well in situations like this so he didn’t have to be half-naked in front of Barnes. When Steve was passed out in his uniform, bleeding out on Sam’s couch, Sam had to strip him, and, well, Steve didn’t like wearing boxers with the uniform. Only a jockstrap. Sam saw more than he wanted those nights. 

The uniform peeled down his shoulders and back and stuck around his waist where the zipper ended. Sam toed off his boots with little difficulty. His wings were back in the boot of their crappy Honda, very kindly gifted to them by Steve, and he couldn’t bring himself to go get them. He had the shield, in case they were followed anyway. 

Sam rolled his shoulder and cringed at the feeling of the cut tearing back open, trickles of blood wetting his tank top. God, it was practically soaked with blood and sweat already, dampening his skin underneath. Some of the blood was crusted, stuck to his clothes, and he could feel it irritating the skin underneath. 

No fucking shower. Dammit. 

He was gonna kill Steve. 

Sam turned back around so he could move to sit on the edge of the bed, freezing when he caught Barnes was staring at him. Well, at the very obvious cut on his back. 

“Need help with that?” he asked, meeting Sam’s gaze with raised eyebrows. 

“Fuck off,” Sam replied without thinking. He closed his mouth, opened it, closed it again, and then sighed. “Fine,” he muttered, glancing away. 

“Captain America accepting help?” Barnes gasped, hand over his heart. “Never thought I’d see the day.” 

“Yeah, real funny, man,” was the best Sam could come up with. He sat on the edge of the bed, concealing the groan that wanted to escape at the feeling of his ass meeting the soft mattress. God damn, he was  _ so _ taking the bed tonight. Damn Barnes to hell. 

“Can you take your shirt off?” Barnes asked, and he was close- a lot closer than Sam thought. He felt the bed dip behind him and half-turned his head to see Barnes kneeling behind him, before he moved to sit cross-legged. Sam could feel the man’s legs brushing his hips, and - _ no _ , he didn’t care, it didn’t bother him, why would it bother him? 

So much for not being half-naked in front of Barnes. 

Sam struggled to get the garment over his head, and if Barnes had anything to say, he didn’t. He was stoically silent behind Sam, and Sam hated to admit that he didn’t like it. He knew how to deal with loud-mouthed asshole Barnes, not the concerned quiet one. 

Sam tossed the bloodied shirt in front of him and sat in silence as Barnes shuffled through the contents of the med kit. He could feel the weight behind him shifting on the bed as he found what he was looking for, bouncing closer to get a better look at Sam’s back. 

“Gonna clean you up, okay?” Barnes said, almost a whisper. The way his tone lowered did things to Sam he would never admit out loud, and he clenched his fists in the sheets to stop him from doing something stupid. 

_ Like turning around and kissing his stupid ugly face. _

Barnes was quick and thorough with cleaning, wiping away any blood – and additional scrapes from where his wing pack was digging into his shoulder blades – all without skin contact, which Sam was eternally grateful for. 

Until the vodka came in, that is.

Barnes had the decency to warn him before he began wiping the open wound itself, but it still didn’t stop the pain. Sam instinctively lurched forward with a hiss, but Barnes’ hand – his bare flesh hand – held his shoulder – also bare – and kept him seated firmly in place. 

In all honesty, the hold was pretty weak, but Barnes’ warm hand against his shoulder made him freeze on instinct. Of course they touched, from sparring to helping each other out if injured, even Barnes patting Sam on the shoulder after a mission went well, but there was never skin. His heart hammered against his ribcage and he felt like that closeted kid in Harlem all over again. 

Pain was standard, and it bothered Sam less and less the more he got injured. Doesn't mean he didn't hiss when a drop seeped into the wound, though. 

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Barnes apologized after a moment of quiet, likely waiting for Sam to relax.

“No worries, man.” Sam was surprised his voice didn’t crack. 

Instead of removing his hand, Barnes instead ran his hand over his shoulder, rubbing what seemed to be soothingly, and lowered it so it was pressed below his shoulder blade. Sam bit the inside of his cheek to stop a shiver running up his spine, and it wasn’t from the cold. His hand was so warm, it almost burned through his skin, but it was nice. It was comforting. 

God.  _ Shut the fuck up, you sap _ . 

There were no more incidents as he patched Sam up, although Sam did have to close his eyes and count to twenty when Barnes wrapped his arms around him to get the bandage secured across his chest. Barnes’ inner forearm brushed against Sam’s pec, and his breathing hitched. Barnes stopped for a moment, oddly quiet, before returning to wrapping the bandage like nothing had happened. 

Sam was pretty sure he was bright red by the time he had finished. 

“It’s not great, but it’s the best I can do with what we’ve got. Unless you wanna stand outside and let it freeze over.” 

“Fuck you.” 

* * *

Bucky left to do a sweep of the area surrounding the cabin, finding nothing but forest buried under a foot of snow. He had his hood pulled over his head and hands shoved deep into his pockets, prepared for a fight but not worried for one. They Hydra base they infiltrated wasn’t a big one, only comprised of mostly scientists. 

The candlelight from the window helped Bucky find his way back to the cabin, the light flickering as the wind drifted through the gaps of the glass. 

He opened the cabin’s door and stepped inside, immediately shrugging off his snow-covered coat and throwing it on the ground next to Sam's boots. He couldn’t help but shiver as his bare neck was exposed to the air. 

He toed off his boots and leaned down to pick them up, hitting them against the wall to shake off the remaining snow. 

Bucky glanced over at the bed to check on Sam, and then did a double-take at the still lump beneath the covers. 

He gently placed his shoes on the ground by the door, and tip-toed to the bed, standing by the headboard. Sam was curled up on his side, head the only thing outside of the covers, but Bucky could see where his hands grasped the covers to his chest from beneath. Sam’s eyes were closed, chin buried slightly in the covers, and Bucky’s gaze was directed to Sam’s parted lips, where little puffs of air left as he exhaled. They were  laboured , a little sharp on the exhale, likely from the motion of breathing pulling at the wound on his back. 

Bucky saw a little flicker of blood behind Sam’s ear, under his hairline, and without thinking, he licked the pad of his thumb and gently wiped at the skin, fingers curled around the back of his head. 

Sam shifted and let out a low groan, and Bucky’s breath caught. 

He froze completely, hand still on Sam’s head. This was wrong. This was so wrong. Bucky needed to leave before Sam would wake up- 

And then the sleeping man moved his head and nuzzled his cheek in the palm of Bucky’s hand. 

_ Was Sam awake? _ No, he couldn’t be awake. He just got badly beaten and passed out as soon as his head hit the pillow. Sam would’ve stayed awake until Bucky got back, if he wasn’t hurt. 

Out of curiosity, Bucky gently dug his fingers into the base of Sam’s skull, palm resting on his cheek. Sam’s  breath hitched and he craned his neck forward to press into the contact. 

Sam groaned again, lowly and quietly. 

Bucky panicked. He ripped his hand away from Sam and stumbled back several steps, almost smashing against the cabin’s wall, just as Sam’s eyes fluttered open. 

“Bu- Barnes?” Sam mumbled, eyes half-open. “What happened?” 

“Nothing.” Bucky shook his head, swallowed, finding himself stuck to the spot by Sam’s gaze. “It’s all clear out there.” 

“Great,” Sam murmured around a yawn, eyes drifting shut again. “Now get in.” 

“What?” Bucky asked dumbly. 

“Get in bed, Barnes,” Sam repeated. “It’s got enough room. Said you shared with Steve and he’s built like a brickhouse.” Bucky wasn’t sure what to say. “Just get in the damn bed.” 

So Bucky did, with only a slice of hesitance in his step. 

Bucky moved to the other side of the bed and removed his pants so he was in his boxers and black shirt, and he took a moment to watch the rise and fall of Sam’s back. His neck was showing now, and part of his back. His skin looked soft. Warm. 

Bucky considered sleeping over the covers, but the gust of wind that whistled through the gaps of the windows sending a shiver up his spine made him quickly change his mind. He carefully climbed under the covers, making sure there was enough room between him and Sam, and laid down on his back, fingers interlaced on his stomach. 

Hours later, Bucky still wasn’t sleeping. He had gotten up not too long ago to replace the candles at the window, and decided to scatter a few more around the room. Before that, he draped spare sheets over the windows so it wouldn’t attract any unwanted visitors. 

He also checked on Sam, noting that his breaths were coming in even, which either meant he was in a deep sleep or the pain was becoming less of a bother. Bucky secured the bandages on the tighter side so it couldn’t be shifted and rub at the wound, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt like a bitch. 

Lifting the blankets a few inches as not to rouse Sam, Bucky shifted on his side so he was facing the other man’s back. The blanket had ridden down a bit so Bucky could see the edges of the bandages wrapped around his back. The candlelight highlighted the firm muscles of his shoulders and back, covered by smooth skin. The weight of his wings pack always had Sam complaining about shoulder and back pain, but he slowly got used to it and mentioned it less and less. Not that Bucky didn’t like the complaining, mind you. It was nice to have something to focus on, and with Bucky seeing Steve less and less, Sam was essentially Bucky’s one constant in life. 

Not that he’d ever admit that to anyone. 

“Why’d you stop?” Sam whispered in the near-dark, so quiet that Bucky had to do a double-take. “I know you’re awake. So, why’d you stop?” 

Bucky blinked, heart pounding relentlessly against his chest. “What d’you mean?” he asked, in a similar whisper. 

“The head massage,” Sam answered. Bucky’s beating heart froze, stuck under his ribcage. 

“I... I-” 

“Had a headache,” Sam murmured. “You were making it go away,” and then an even quieter, “asshole.” 

Bucky couldn’t help but quirk his lip. “Sounds like you’re asking me for something, Wilson.” 

“Not asking for shit,” Sam muttered back. “Jus’ saying.” 

“Still got a headache?” Bucky asked.  _ Oh, god, what the fuck is he doing? _

“A bit, yeah.” 

“Turn over, then. And quit complaining.” It was a demand, but Bucky’s voice was soft. 

There was a pregnant pause, and Bucky thought Sam fell back to sleep, until he shifted and asked, 

“Why?” 

“Easier to give you a massage that way, right?” Bucky asked. 

If Sam knew that the logic behind that statement was flawed, he didn’t comment. Instead, he carefully moved under the covers to face Bucky, hissing when his back met the bed. Bucky had to keep his hands clenched in the sheet to stop from reaching out to help. 

It ended with the men facing each other, staring at one another as the candlelight illuminated their faces, Sam didn’t make a sound when Bucky shifted closer so they were almost chest-to-chest, hip-to-hip, nor did he say anything when Bucky reached a hand up. He wound his arm over Sam’s flank and bent his elbow so his hand could reach Sam’s head. Sam’s hand was resting over the sheet, palm flat, fingers almost brushing the metal arm Bucky had under the pillow. 

Bucky’s blue eyes burned brightly into Sam’s dark ones. He stroked his thumb over the skin of Sam’s neck, almost reassuringly, and he began gently massaging his fingers into his scalp. 

Sam's eyes fluttered shut and his lips parted in a sleepy exhale. Bucky felt the breath hit his own lips, and he had to clench his unoccupied hand in the pillow to ground himself. 

Bucky took a moment to really look at Sam in the candlelight. His full lips that looked soft to the touch were tempting, and his skin was smooth in a way Bucky envied. There was light stubble lining his jaw which Bucky wouldn't have noticed if he wasn't so close; almost a 5 o'clock shadow, but not quite. He always looked so soft. Open. More open than anybody else Bucky had ever met. He was easy to read and easy to talk to, because Sam has never tried to hide his feelings, not like Steve. Always open about Riley, his time in the military and his family. He always talked about his family.

Bucky didn't deserve his trust; he knew that. Not after he tried killing him God knows how many times, or knowing what he did to Tony's parents. To all of his other victims. Sam accepted the fact the Soldier was a different person far before Bucky ever did.

He didn't deserve Sam. Nobody deserved Sam.

Bucky found his fingers drifting to the nape of his neck, fingers lightly scratching at the skin. Sam's breath hitched and he leaned forward, forehead almost brushing Bucky's nose. The brunette held his breath. 

Sam's fingers - the ones resting between the two men - stretched from where they were grasping the sheets, reaching towards Bucky. He didn't move any further than an inch, and Bucky found himself aching to reach out and wrap his fingers around Sam's. 

"Barnes?" Sam murmured softly. Bucky didn't realise he opened his eyes until he glanced up at his half-lidded expression.

"How's your headache?" Bucky whispered.

Sam's lip tilted in a smile, and Bucky hated how it made his heart stutter. "Feelin' better," the man mumbled, his eyes fluttering shut. "You're good at this, Barnes." He sighed deeply through his nose. "You help out all your friends like this?"

"Nah." Bucky's thumb was now only lightly tracing the side of his neck, his fingers still at the nape. He could feel the light thud of his pulse, unwavering. "Just…" The man swallowed, his throat dry. "You."

Sam's lips turned up in a soft smile, and Bucky could see the glint in his eyes despite them being shut. Bucky, for a frightful second, thought he was going to mock him, make some kind of joke, but he didn't. Instead, he moved his hand and gently traced the metal plates of Bucky's metal arm with his fingertip. Bucky stopped breathing entirely, almost entranced by the gesture. Even Steve didn't touch the arm; when he did, Bucky always caught him flinch. 

But Sam wasn't flinching. No, Sam was curling his fingers around his wrist, holding onto him with a loose grip. Bucky somehow knew that was for his benefit, so he could easily pull out of the hold if he wanted to. But Bucky didn't want that; he wanted Sam to hold him tighter, pull him closer to him and hold him.

He didn't, and it disappointed Bucky, but that didn't mean he didn't fall asleep with a smile when Sam whispered, "Go the fuck to bed, Barnes."

**Author's Note:**

> i started writing this in my second year of college a year ago and thought fuck it so now i uploaded it. might make a part two eventually


End file.
